


The Way a Fool Would Do

by Baltar4Prez



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Brief Mention of Violence, Fluff, M/M, detective stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baltar4Prez/pseuds/Baltar4Prez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim learns something about Oswald and pays for the knowledge by loosening up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way a Fool Would Do

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not much of a writer, but dang it if this pairing didn't hit me like a freight train. 
> 
> Inspired by the completely unnecessary but very adorable scene in s1e16 were Oswald's playing "Heart and Soul" on the piano. Takes place some time after episode 18, but before the season's finale.

It is way before the club opened but Jim doesn't have any problems getting in, as he expected. The familiar weight in his stomach appears as the guard closes the door after him. The room is dark and cold, made even more noticeable coming out of the rain. It feels more like a cave than a nightclub before his eyes adjust and break the illusion. The place was dimly lit the first time he was here too, but it was even darker now. Since Cobblepot took over, Fish's warm reds were replaced with black and blue and purple. It was well-suited to Cobblepot tastes, as far as Jim could tell, which made it all the more uncomfortable.

Jim immediately glances around the bar section, expecting Cobblepot to be right where he imagined when he planned his in-and-out meeting with him, but it's empty. He told Harvey he wouldn't be long, but even he knew that was optimistic. Meetings with Cobblepot weren't exactly simple. Normally Jim would just storm off if Cobblepot was having trouble cooperating, but he told himself he had to be patient today. He was doing someone a favor. He could quiet his pride and endure to get the information he needed.

Jim has already changed his direction towards the office before he really hears the music. The soft notes drag his eyes towards the stage where the Penguin himself was sitting at a piano. Something about the image stops him. The spotlight hits just behind the man, but there was no mistaking that bizarre hairstyle, even from across the room.

The music was by no means masterful, but Cobblepot was playing with both hands and the melody was flowing without pauses.

Whenever Jim saw him, he always looked like he was working--or scheming, more like. But the club had no patrons and Cobblepot's hired hands were busy drinking and playing cards at one of the tables. It was strange seeing him so... relaxed. 

One of Penguin's men looks back at him, prompting Jim to get on with his visit. He barely makes it to the stage's stairs before Cobblepot notices him. The song stops mid-tune. He misses it.

"Jim, how pleasantly unexpected," Cobblepot greets in his usual earnest tone.

"I didn't know you played," Jim says coming up to stand beside him. He doesn't mean to ask, but the song is still echoing in his head.

Cobblepot smiles like he was payed a compliment.

"Well how could you? You've never had the pleasure of a night at my establishment."

Jim stiffens at that. He remembers how sincere Cobblepot had looked giving him an invitation to the club's reopening. Jim's absence must have stung a bit since Cobblepot had gone out of his way to invite him in person. Or maybe he hardly noticed it at all on the night celebrating his success.

Either way, Cobblepot's expression stays pleasant. Which means Jim might not have wasted a trip.

"I work a lot."

It was the best and truest excuse he could come up with.

"I know," Cobblepot teases. "We have that in common."

Jim clears his throat. "That's actually why I'm here--"

"I figured as much. Tell me, Jim... do you play?"

"Sorry?"

"Piano, of course! Do you play piano?" Cobblepot laughs. The sound makes Jim's teeth grind.

"No," Jim replies flatly. Conversations with Cobblepot always seemed to turn into some kind of game and Jim never knows where the other man is going with them. Criminals reacting coyly to straight-forward questions were a constant irritation for Jim. Cobblepot was no different than the rest of them. "I just need to know if you know of a Darrien Scott."

"Really?" Cobblepot tilts his head. "I would have thought a well-traveled man like yourself would have to have run into a piano at some point in your life."

"Not really. Scott's a small time criminal that worked in Fish's crew for a short while before disappearing five months ago."

"I think I would be very surprised if you didn't know a single song."

Jim sighs.

"I know 'Twinkle, Twinkle.'"

Cobblepot raises his eyebrows meaningfully as though he caught Jim in a lie. He scoots on his bench towards Jim and pats the vacant spot next to him.

"Show me."

"A picture of Scott? Yeah, I might have one in my car," Jim deadpans, thrusting a thumb towards the exit.

Cobblepot tsks at him.

"You're such a kidder. Now come on. You want me to help you find this man? It would be my absolute pleasure, but it will cost you a song."

Jim stares at him. "I don't have time for this."

"You can't spare just one minute for a friend? Is this case that dire?"

The disappearance of Darrien Scott was actually a cold case he'd been working for a perp he recently put away. The woman he arrested for murdering her abusive husband was Scott's sister. And though she'd be locked away for a couple of years, Jim promised her he'd try to find the woman's last bit of family on the outside.

But Cobblepot didn't need to know that.

"It is."

"It's not like I'm trying to cash in on that favor you owe me. I just thought it'd be nice to share a song with a fellow fan of the piano," Cobblepot says.

The mention of favors makes the uncomfortable feeling rush back into Jim.

So far the Penguin hasn't pushed for anything, which would be good if it didn't mean Jim had no reason to stop coming to him for help. The anticipation of what might be asked of him made it worse. All Cobblepot would have to do is ask Jim to kill for him or something and then he could feel no guilt walking away from his promise.

But Cobblepot never asked him to kill. If he is as smart as Jim suspects he is, he'd know it would be a waste of a detective's favor.

No. Cobblepot is sitting on that favor.

And now he's asking Jim to play "Twinkle, Twinkle."

He really is every bit as strange as Jim suspects, too.

Despite his better judgement not to indulge in Cobblepot whims, he forces himself to be grateful that he's been given a simple task.

"I don't know if I'd say I'm a piano fan..."

Jim walks around Cobblepot, ignoring the way he lights up at the motion, and sits closer to him than he'd like on the small bench. Still feeling Cobblepot gaze on him, Jim focuses on finding the first key.

Maybe not as simple of a task as he thought.

Jim hits a couple of wrong notes before he finds it. He can't help but steal a quick glance to see if the other man found it amusing, but Cobblepot just nodded encouragingly.

The song comes out slow and clattery, one high-pitched key at a time. After the first key, the rest of the notes come back to him through muscle memory, even though he hasn't touched a piano in years.

Any confidence he might have had is lost when Jim realizes he only knows half of the already very short nursery rhyme. His hand hovers awkwardly over his last, pathetic note when he dares to look at Cobblepot. Cobblepot, who is looking at Jim again like he's amazing. Amazing for being terrible at the only song on the piano he knows. Amazing for sitting next to him. Amazing for just existing.

Jim can't handle that expression for long. He looks back at the piano and waits, his piano skills no longer the cause of his embarrassment. Jim tries not to think about Cobblepot when he's like this. Having a mob connection is already too messy for Jim's standards. No need for any other complications.

It isn't too long before Cobblepot blessedly fills the silence.

"I must say, that was quite the sight: Jim Gordon playing the piano. If you would indulge me just once more, I'd like to hear it again."

Jim has no idea what to say, so he gives a short nod and positions his hand.

This time, however, when he hits the key, multiple notes sound out. It takes less than a second to see one of Cobblepot's hands is playing along with him. Jim manages not to break rhythm and continues through the short cycle.

The resulting melody isn't anything special, but it sounds good. Using two hands is more professional, Jim thinks. And Cobblepot's low keys complimented Jim's harsher, high keys. Their duet is over quickly, but this time they both turn to each other and share a small smile.

Surprisingly, Cobblepot breaks eye contact first. He moves as if to close the piano's lid, but then draws his hands back like he changed his mind. Jim catches the movement but almost misses the words.

"Now then," Cobblepot starts. "Darrien Scott, is it?"

Jim blinks. "Yes. Yeah, that's him."

"I'm afraid the name doesn't ring any bells for me, though I'm sure it would for Butch. He's spent an ungodly amount of time with Fish. Unfortunately he's not here, but when he gets back I could give you a call?"

Jim is already rising out of his seat when he answers. Back to business.

"That would be good, thanks."

"You are very welcome."

As a detective, Jim frequently arrives and leaves places with little warning, but it seems inappropriate at the moment. Cobblepot hasn't moved and Jim wonders if he is expected to say something else. Nothing comes to mind but he hesitates. He's strangely reluctant to go and leave their interaction incomplete. Still, he straightens his suit jacket a bit and leaves the stage the way he came. He can feel Cobblepot watching his back, but he's surprised when the other man speaks.

"Oh, and Jim," Cobblepot calls from his seat.

Jim turns back on the center floor. Maybe too quickly.

"If you're ever interested, I could teach you the rest of that song. Free of charge."

Cobblepot punctuates his words with a small flourish of the keys. 

Jim snorts, but walks away feeling light.

**Author's Note:**

> Optional crack sequel: every week Jim visits Oswald for "piano lessons." Months later Bruce invites Jim and Harvey to a gala or something and Harvey bullies Jim into playing the piano there. Jim still can't play for shit, as Harvey was expecting, and he laughs at Jim expense. It's great.


End file.
